John Chrysostom Quotes

Irrespective of age, we mourn for those loved and lost. Mourning is one of the deepest expressions of pure love.

With the tears a Land hath shed. Their graves should ever be green.

Time is the only comforter for the loss of a mother.

I admit that death is not just about you, it's also about the people who love you.

Nothing endears so much a friend as sorrow for his death. The pleasure of his company has not so powerful an influence.

A friend who dies, it's something of you who dies.

The elegy does the work of mourning; it allows us to experience mortality. It turns loss into remembrance, and it delivers an inheritance.

It's very inconvenient because every time I finish, let's say, a chapter of a book, I think I'm going to ring Richard and then realize: Oh, Christ, I've buried him. I buried him last year.

Grief and memory go together. After someone dies, that's what you're left with. And the memories are so slippery yet so rich.

Memory, in widow's weeds, with naked feet stands on a tombstone.

Bereavement is terrible, of course. And when somebody you love dies, it's a time for reflection, a time for memory, a time for regret.

When someone important to you, someone that's played a big role in your life, when they're gone... When you write about them or pay tribute to them, you want to do it in a way that's thoughtful.

When you lose someone, their memory lives on.

Everyone I have lost in the closing of a door the click of the lock is not forgotten, they do not die but remain within the soft edges of the earth, the ash of house fires and cancer in sin and forgiveness huddled under old blankets dreaming their way into my hands, my heart closing tight like fists. - "Indian Boy Love Song #1

The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost,-too many, yet how few!

Ring out the grief that saps the mind, for those that were here we see no more.

Cold inthe earthand the deepsnow piled abovethee, Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave! Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee, Severed at last byTime's all-serving wave?

I remember the day my mother died, and it's still hard to talk about it. I just blocked it out.

I ought not to speak about the dead because the dead are all over the place.

Mourn for me rather as living than as dead.

Just because someone's dead doesn't mean it's over. My grandfather died more than 25 years ago, but I still think of him a lot and smell his smell.

My father's body lies in a stone tomb high on a hill. People walk by, pause, think their own thoughts about him and move on, back to their own lives. I can never move on. He is everywhere.

I'll never forget the first time I saw someone who had died. It was my grandfather. And I knelt next to his coffin. And all I could do was eye level was look at his hands. They were enormous hands. And all I could think was, 'Those hands dug freedom for me.'

Excess of grief for the dead is madness; for it is an injury to the living, and the dead know it not.